


Gentlemanly Behavior

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Drinking, Episode Related, F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22546780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: He should send her away. He'd had too much to drink to police himself properly, not with her. Sending Michael away would protect them both.Chris held up the bottle. "Drink?" he asked instead, his mouth having ideas of its own. Apparently.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Christopher Pike
Comments: 35
Kudos: 211





	Gentlemanly Behavior

**Author's Note:**

> I have half a dozen wips for these two. Was this one of them? Nope. Idek. I think I'm still mad about Pike's blink-and-it's-forgotten mutiny. Takes place immediately after 2.08 "If Memory Serves." Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1055574.html).

Chris filled his shot glass to the brim, his hand steady despite the several drinks he'd already had. It sent a little thrill of satisfaction through him. He didn't drink much anymore—captains had too much responsibility to allow themselves to indulge, in his opinion—but if there was a day that called for it...

He shook off that thought and downed the shot in one go, breathing in against the burn. Una would be horrified at how he was abusing the bottle of Cantaran firewhisky she'd gifted him. 

She could lecture him about it when she visited him in the brig. 

Chris swallowed, his throat aching, and filled the glass again. If he was going to get plastered, at least he could do it thoroughly enough to avoid _those_ thoughts. He held the glass up, peering through it and out the window, to the stars that sped by. The captain's quarters had a beautiful view. Shame that it was currently showing him just how fast they were running. 

That shot went down smoother, which told Chris that the alcohol must be doing its work. The point of this drink was the burn, after all. 

He refilled the glass again—

A chime derailed him, making his hand waver. That wouldn't do. 

It took Chris a second to realize what it meant. Someone was _here_. At his door, late at night. He didn't remember calling for anyone. 

Huh.

"Come?" Only after he'd spoken did he realize that came from him. Chris frowned. He didn't think he'd meant that as a question. But that line of thought got derailed when the doors opened—

And _Michael_ walked in. 

Chris' mouth went dry. _Shit_. 

He studied her, still wearing the Vulcan clothes she'd returned in, somehow accentuating the curves of her body despite that she was all covered up. She frowned as she studied him right back, taking in the bottle and glass on his coffee table, Chris ensconced on the couch, sans jacket and shoes, methodically getting wasted like that was a thing he did. 

He should send her away. He'd had too much to drink to police himself properly, not with her. Sending Michael away would protect them both. 

Chris held up the bottle. "Drink?" he asked instead, his mouth having ideas of its own. Apparently.

She would refuse, of course. Michael was nothing if not proper and drinking late at night in your commanding officer's quarters violated pretty much every definition of the word. 

Michael tilted her head and shrugged one shoulder. "Why not?" she murmured, voice low. 

Chris blinked at her, getting distracted by that voice, how it sparked something inside him. He could only watch as she grabbed a glass from his bar cart and approached, sitting beside him on the couch, taking the bottle from his numb fingers. She filled her glass steadily, refilling his, then set the bottle down. She held up her glass, one corner of her mouth lifting. "What are we drinking to?"

"To mutiny," he said without thinking, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. He caught her flinch, instantly regretting that, but there was nothing for it now. He clinked their glasses together, then downed his shot. 

After a moment, Michael followed suit, coughing lightly in surprise. "Wow," she said, voice rougher, he noticed, his body responding automatically. "That is...potent."

"Don't mess with Cantarans," Chris agreed, transfixed by the interest in her face, that look Michael wore when she was exploring something new. It never failed to strike him. 

She turned her attention from the bottle to him, eyes going soft. "Drinking alone, sir?"

"Chris," he corrected. He wasn't the captain here. Certainly not like this. Maybe not at all, for much longer. 

"Chris," she nodded, still watching him quietly. 

"I wasn't fit for company," he said.

Michael took him in, her bearing turning tentative, like she worried she'd transgressed. Because she had no idea he'd accept anything from her, any way he could get it. "Should I leave you to it?"

"No," he breathed, eyes drinking her in. Even late at night, she glowed, such _light_ inside her. 

It made things so very difficult. 

Michael nodded again. Her lips quirked, eyes flicking to the bottle once more. "I'm impressed you bothered with the glass."

He tsked. "A gentleman always drinks from a glass." 

"A gentleman, huh?" she asked, amused.

"I've been accused."

"I'll bet. Even if it is a bit old-fashioned."

"As my mother says, manners never go out of style."

Michael tilted her head, like that meant something. Chris was so focused on her, he caught it, smiling in question. "What?"

"Nothing, just...Philippa used to say that. On the _Shenzhou_." Something flickered in her expression, too fast for Chris to read, though it didn't seem good. 

So he kept it light, making an affronted noise. "Pippa stole my line? _Thief_ ," he groused. He waved his glass to Michael. "She used to exploit that, I'll have you know. In races, group projects, _chess_. I let her go first and she'd just wipe the floor with me. Then laugh. Then drink me under the table. Straight from the bottle, I might add."

Michael smiled, that heavy moment gone, delighted. "What I wouldn't give to see your Academy exploits."

Chris made a negative noise. "Hyper-intellectual twentysomething idealists together all the time? Oh, the drama. And drinking. God, the drinking. I'm lucky I escaped with my dignity."

Michael laughed, once, and Chris felt it land deep in his chest, a cascade of warmth spreading. "I can't imagine you undignified."

Chris' smile dimmed, reality intruding once more. "I think you're looking at it," he said, going for light and mostly failing. 

Michael's amusement drained away, but her look held only fondness. "I don't think that's true."

He set the glass down on the coffee table, sighing, feeling unwelcome sobriety trying to reassert itself. "What I had to do today..."

"Leland put you in an untenable position."

"It's a failure that it even got to that point. I should've figured out how to head it off, so I didn't have to drag everyone into this."

Michael shook her head, then leaned back into the couch, curling a little as she turned toward him. "The crew is with you," she reminded. 

"I'm the captain," he dismissed. _Captain Pike_ , even. He knew the moral weight he carried, even outside the weight of command they were all trained to obey. Did the crew really have a choice, in the end?

"Are you saying you regret it?" she asked, no judgment in her voice. 

"It's the right thing," he said, sure of that at least. If he was gonna torch the career he'd spent a lifetime building, it would be for a righteous cause. It would be to save Spock. And Michael.

"It is, but that's not what I asked," Michael said, gentle. 

"Do you regret it?" he asked instead, giving in to this curiosity, this thing they'd never talked about. Her mutiny. He hadn't wanted to bring it up, not after that first day, Michael looking away from him when he mentioned it. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, even if everything in him had been desperate to know. 

How did the most honorable among them end up betraying everything they held dear? 

Today...Chris was beginning to understand it. 

Michael dropped her eyes, seeming to look inside herself. "Yes," she said eventually, lifting her eyes again, the pain there breathtaking. "Whatever the motives, my mutiny got my—" She hesitated, switching gears. "Got a lot of people killed," she finished. "I regret that."

Chris nodded, feeling emotion threaten at that idea. "I don't want to get anyone killed."

Michael reached out, squeezing his arm. "You haven't."

Chris sucked in a breath, his head swimming at her touch, senses suddenly hyperfocused on her, all he could feel. Lightning raced up his spine, even through the long sleeves of his undershirt. Chris swallowed, trying to keep himself in check. He met her eyes. "Why are you here, Michael?"

Michael pulled her hand back, seeming flustered. She sat up quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

Chris moved forward, holding out a hand, stilling her. "You're not."

Michael breathed out, once, staring at him, something vulnerable filling her eyes. "I know what it's like," she confessed. "You're unflappable, of course you are, but I know how it feels to betray what you've sworn to defend. The loneliness of it."

Her voice trembled with some kind of knowledge, too deep for simple empathy. If he were sober, he might move past it, let her keep her own counsel. 

Boy, had he passed sober a while ago. "That's not all," he said, tone coaxing. 

Oddly, Michael looked away. Embarrassment, maybe? He couldn't place whatever was on her face. 

"No," Michael agreed, finally. She met his eyes again, being brave. "When I was on Talos, I...felt you."

Chris shook his head, not understanding. 

Michael seemed equally lost. "I don't know how to describe it. It wasn't you, obviously. It was like...an imprint of you inside the matrix of their reality. Like you left a mark." Michael stared at him then, something almost hurting in her. "You were so lonely."

Chris flinched, nothing he could help, his emotions living too close to the surface after all the drinking. Suddenly he was back on Talos, frustrated at the mantle of captain, burdened with choosing who lived and who died. 

Michael continued, halting. "But you were still—still principled. Even if it just compounded the loneliness. And I realized...it felt familiar. I know how it feels," she repeated, insistent. "When I got back, I thought...you shouldn't go through it alone." She swallowed. "Nor should I." 

Chris blinked, the whole room tilting as his vision swam. When it cleared, he found his hand cupping her cheek, thumb caressing her jaw. He didn't know how it happened—he shouldn't—but then Michael leaned into the touch, her eyes never leaving his. 

Unbidden, Chris moved close, the catch of Michael's breath dimly registering, and even though he was doing it, it was still a shock to find his mouth brushing hers, feather light, Michael's hand landing on his chest and curling there. She made a soft sound, one that buzzed against his lips and straight through him, and Chris tilted his head, kissing her deeper, feeling her kiss back. 

He licked at her bottom lip, so light, teasing her, drawing her in. Michael responded, pressing closer, mouth opening to him. She tasted like firewhisky and yearning, or maybe that was him, Chris couldn't tell anymore. All he could do was fall into it, reveling in the slick slide of their mouths, the desire burning through him as the room faded away. 

Michael sank against him, her breasts pressing into his chest, arousal suddenly sharp and present. It'd been so long since he held a woman like this, since he'd wanted the reality of this intimacy. But here, with Michael, he was desperate for it. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her close, hands skimming the line of her body, already so responsive to his touch. 

He could do this, he knew. He could lead her to bed, pull these Vulcan clothes off her to find the human underneath. He could taste her everywhere, bury his head between her thighs, see what beautiful sounds he could draw from her with his mouth. He'd bring her off like that, get her slick and ready for him. Then he'd fuck her slowly, staring into her eyes, watching every flicker of bliss, every gasp for more. He wanted to. He wanted to make Michael Burnham fall to pieces, incoherent with pleasure. He'd wanted it every second since he caught sight of her in the transporter room, the lust only deepening with every moral stand she took, every brilliant idea she had. Chris wanted to _worship her_. 

Michael moaned helplessly into his mouth, fingers gripping his arms. "Chris, please," she whispered, voice thick with want. 

Dimly, Chris realized he'd said all that out loud between kisses, Michael clinging to him like she was halfway there, like he didn't even need the bed, he could take her right here. 

The thought of fucking Michael on the couch made something freeze inside him. No, that wasn't right; she deserved better. Chris turned his head and broke the kiss, panting against her shoulder as he tried to get control. "Dammit," he muttered, shame swamping him. He forced his hands to loosen their grip, letting her go. 

"Chris?" Michael asked, a confused lilt to her voice as she nuzzled his temple, lips painting trails of fire across his skin. 

"I wasn't going to do this," he murmured, trying to get his jumbled thoughts in order, to explain. He'd felt her looking. He knew what it meant. "I was going to leave it alone."

"Why?" Michael breathed against him, tone implying she couldn't think of a single good reason he'd want to keep away from this. 

From this thing that could so easily _consume_ him. 

Chris opened his palms, gently pulling away, keeping her from moving close again. When he caught sight of her face, he found her lips puffy, eyes dazed. Lust _stabbed_ through him, thick and sharp. _He_ made her look like that. 

Chris shook his head. He needed to _think_. "I'm not at my best. I don't—I don't want to use you."

"Even if I want you to?"

Jesus fucking _Christ_. 

Chris stared at her, the room still swimming around them, but he knew that look. He knew what it meant when a woman looked at him like that. 

He never expected to see it on Michael. 

Chris ran his hand over his mouth, cursing everything about this. "We should—you should go," he said, voice shaking.

Michael leaned toward him, hand on his chest, right over his heart. "I want to stay. You want me to stay."

"Desperately," he admitted. "But I can't. Not like this."

She took him in, unblinking, like he was a cipher and she just needed to find the key. After long moments that probably weren't, given his sense of time, she finally sat back, pulling her touch away. "Gentleman," she said slowly. 

"I've been accused," he said, voice trembling. 

Like that, Michael accepted it, nodding once. "We'll revisit it at another time," she decided. 

"Michael," he protested, all the reasons why not swirling through his mind. He was her captain, her _brother's_ captain, he—

Michael moved in close again, one hand cupping his cheek. "Chris," she said firmly. "Are you really going to argue with a lady?"

Chris took a breath, feeling the heat of her fingers on his skin, the way his body felt awake and alive, the adorable mulish expression on her face, like she'd go three rounds with him and it wasn't even a question. 

He swallowed. He'd lost control of this. He shouldn't have opened the door...though to be fair, he couldn't find his way to regretting it. Not when Michael looked at him like _that_. "Philippa is a terrible influence," he finally sighed, keeping his tone light, letting her know he conceded. "You're exploiting this." 

Michael's smile started slow, just at the corners of her mouth, but it spread, such _warmth_ there. "In this case, I think we both win."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
